To Commodore, With a Promise Renewed
by Daisy Sparrow
Summary: COMPLETED What if Port Royal wasn't the first time that Jack and Norrington met. This is the story of the most unlikely friendship, forged in the cold winter of London. Non-slash, at least I think it's not. R&R please!
1. Apple, rum and winter

To Commodore, With A Promise Renewed - 1/2   
  
Author: Daisy Sparrow   
  
Rating: PG   
  
Pairing: None   
  
Summary:   
  
Port Royal wasn't the first time that Jack and Norrington met.   
  
Disclaimer:   
  
Pirates of the Caribbean and all its characters are not mine, Disney owned them. I am making no money off this. I am already poor so don't sue.   
  
Special thanks to Darkdancer for the betaing, thanx ^_^   
  
Archive:   
  
As long as you ask me first.   
  
Warning:   
  
Same as always, English not my first language.   
  
Author's notes:   
  
My cousin used to call me "apple cheeks", which annoyed me to no end. I was looking at some old pictures the other day and the nickname just stuck in my head. I thought the plot is kind of lame, but oh well, as long as I get it out of my system.   
  
I don't know what Norrington's first name is. But I heard it somewhere that it's James, and I like the name James. Anyway, correct me if I am wrong.  
  
So please tell me what you think! Read and review, pleaseeeeeee~~~~~~ ^_^   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
The first time he saw the other boy, he wanted to eat him.   
  
He was still very much a child then, roughened by the life on the street, yet retained just enough innocence to overlook the double entendre.   
  
When he said eat, he had meant... well, eat.   
  
The cerulean eyes had reminded him of the sea in late afternoon, sparkling with a scanty pastel glittering. Dark blond hair, thick and rich, was wind blown like the crops in harvest season. Small lips were supple and full, like the petals of some exotic tropical flower he had glimpsed in the greenhouse where he stayed.   
  
But it was those round cheeks that first captivated his attention. They were flushed like apples, and he had wanted to bite into them.   
  
He had tried to bite into them.   
  
The boy's nanny was horrified when the dirty little beggar lurched himself at them, and caught the well-dressed boy in a headlock. She had screamed in a high pitched voice and hit him rather viciously on the head with her hand bag.   
  
He had wanted to covered his ears to prevent the inflow of verbal abuse, her wailing and crying had reminded him of a dying turkey. However, he hadn't wanted to let go of the other boy, who had took his advances with a remarkably calm demeanor.   
  
The three of them must had made a mightily amusing sight, because in a few minutes the corner of the street was crowded with bystanders. He had recognized some of the cheering faces to be his pauper colleagues.   
  
The police arrived soon afterward. They must had thought that he was trying to rob the other two. Instead of turned tail and ran, he had stood and snarled at them, which was probably not the most sensible course of action at the time. Encouraged by his disobedience, they had whipped him in public.   
  
He had almost had to crawl back to the greenhouse where he made his temporary refugee. The gardener, an elderly gentlemen, had kindly dressed and bandaged his wounds. The old man had also drilled him on the virtue of discretion, which included a long lecture on how borrowing without permission was only forbidden by god when they were discovered.   
  
He hadn't bothered to explain. He didn't mind people's presumption about his retardness, their ignorance gave him an unexpected edge. But honestly, if he had decided on a career path as a lowly criminal, he would first start practicing on the people who couldn't fight back and certainly not in broad day light.   
  
He blamed his misfortunate that day on his half starving status, and pushed it to the back of his mind.   
  
The memory did not resurface until three months later.   
  
~~~*~~~   
  
London was almost bone-deep chilling that winter. The stone pavements on the road would sometimes crack without warning. The wheels of carriage would often sink into the gaps and broke.   
  
In his plentiful spare times, he had entertained himself by covered the cracks with dirt, waited and threw rocks at the wealthy passengers who were marooned in the cold.   
  
The night before Christmas, he went home to an ghostly quiet greenhouse. His first cue that something was amiss was the sturdy lock on the iron gates. He reckoned the owner of the greenhouse had finally came around to block out the stray.   
  
He had yelled at, shook and kicked the steel bars to no avail, while the sound of metal clashing echoed down the street. After a good workout, he finally resigned to the fact that no one was going to acknowledge his presence. As a result, he figured that he might as well let himself in, through the hole on the back wall.   
  
The large complex was devoid of its usual lavish vegetation. The glasses windows were shattered. Broken pieces scattered all over the ground, ironically mirrored the twinkling stars above.   
  
He found the gardener curled in a corner, surrounded by empty bottles. The old man had died with a smile on his face, _expression sincere like in the midst of a blissful dream.   
  
He was ravenously envious of the other. From that moment on, he had promised himself that if he had the choice, he would prefer to die of alcohol poisoning.   
  
A crumpled letter and a five pounds bill was in the man's right hand. He picked up the letter and read it. It was another thing that people had always found surprising about him. He could read because he didn't always live on the street.   
  
The owner had went bankrupt, thus could no longer afford the expensive habit of collecting rare plants. The gardener was out of a job and drank himself to death, while he was out of a place to stay.   
  
He had cursed his rotten luck, but his spirit revived quickly. It was, after all, Christmas and he had five pounds in his pocket to do as he pleased. Life was good so far, and he would just have to deal with the problems of shelter and food as they roused.   
  
He was the kind of person who crossed the bridge only when he came to it. Although he could be quite resourceful if the circumstances pressured him, he did not have any long term plan. He lived each day as his last and to its fullest. Higher hopes and dreams would only bring more crushing disappointments.   
  
So he wandered the street for as long as the five pounds could sustain him. Until he woke up one day buried in snow, and realized that the last coin was gone.   
  
A few days later, he met the other boy for the second time.   
  
~~~*~~~   
  
He first saw the gigantic mansion when he was chased by the baker's bulldogs.   
  
It was actually hard to miss because of its seer size. Its bulk created the illusion of some medieval castle that was looming over the distance, as it surrounded by tall trees that silhouetted against the evening sky. The artistically craved gates were slightly ajar, and the walk way behind it stretched out like a shadowy glade.   
  
The dogs were gaining on him, and in a haste he had dived into the creak between the gates. The gates clicked shut as the dogs lunged against them. He had smirked and stuck out his tongue at them before turned and assessed his new situation.   
  
The inhabitants of this luxurious residence were mostly asleep and he explored the ground to his heart's content. The walk way leaded to a spacious garden on the left side of the main house.   
  
Through the bleak assembly of bushes and trickets, he heard soft weeping. He swaggered on stealthy toes and inched his head out a little. His vision rose just above the fringe of the dwarvy plants and he immediately spotted the other boy.   
  
A twig snapped loudly beneath his feet.   
  
The blonde's head raised sharply in alarm. They stared at each other without blinking. He was contemplating whether he should make a run for it, before the other boy relaxed and patted the space beside him on the bench.   
  
He scratched his head a little, and sat down against his better judgment. They both shifted in their seats uncomfortably.   
  
He cast a sidelong glance at the other boy, who was still staring blankly ahead. He took the chance to observe the pale face unveiled by moonlight. With the other this close, he could identify the fine silk linings on the neatly pressed coat and smelled the fresh apple cinnamon scents lingered on the agile form. He looked down on his toes consciously; he hadn't taken a bath or a change of clothe in... a very long time.   
  
He sighed and took out the bread he stole earlier. He snapped the harden shell of crust in half and offered one piece to the other, who eyed it critically. He shrugged and made as if to rescind the offer, before a small hand snatched it away.   
  
He smiled, and the other boy smiled hesitantly back. They munched their snacks in silence.   
  
"Are you an angel?"   
  
He almost jumped at the sudden voice, as it knifed into the buttery night. The question was uttered in a quite and cultured tone, yet it was roaring as it resounded against the hushed background.   
  
"Eh... no. I am... a thief."   
  
"Oh."   
  
"....." He had not known until then, that he had any self-esteem to deplete and ego to bruise.   
  
"I was praying for an angel."   
  
The boy looked skeptically at him, then smirked. He pouted, torn between the need to make up some plausible excuses in order to justify his presence, and the urge to smack the other's face against the ground for making him think of the former.   
  
"....but since you are here, I guess you will have to do."   
  
"To do what? Listen, brat. I am not doing anything for some rich, snotty..."   
  
The other brushed aside his heated rumbling with ease. "What's your name?"   
  
"Why should I tell ye!"   
  
"Because that's what we have to do if we wanted to be friends. Friends have to introduce themselves to each other first."   
  
"Who said I'd..."   
  
"James."   
  
"What?"   
  
"My name. It's James, James Norrington."   
  
"......"   
  
"You have to tell me yours now. It has to be a fair trade."   
  
"....Jack. Jack Sparrow."   
  
"Well, Jack. Pleased to make your acquaintance."   
  
He shook the other's hand reluctantly. This evening was turning out to be so bizarre. He debated on whether he should pinch himself just to make sure he wasn't dreaming.   
  
Happiness and pride stained the round, yet bloodless cheeks with rosy red. He blinked, mouth moved without any conscious thoughts.   
  
"Apple cheeks."   
  
"Eh?" The other boy droned, voice laced with slight indignation and annoyance.   
  
He laughed.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Me: This is another one of my spur of the moment idea.   
  
Zeke: Shouldn't you be working on the other story?   
  
Me: I didn't know you were looking forward to get your ass kicked.... again.   
  
All comments and suggestions will be treasured! They gave me more motivation to hurry up the next part.   
  
^_~ 


	2. Friendship, parting and the sea

To Commodore, With A Promise Renewed - 2/2   
  
Author: Daisy Sparrow   
  
Rating: PG   
  
Pairing: None. I don't think it's slash, but judge for yourself.  
  
Summary:   
  
Port Royal wasn't the first time that Jack and Norrington met. This is the story of the most unlikely friendship, forged in the cold winter of London.  
  
Disclaimer:   
  
Pirates of the Caribbean and all its characters are not mine, Disney owned them. I am making no money off this. I am already poor so don't sue.   
  
Special thanks to Darkdancer for betaing the first part, thanx ^_^   
  
Archive:   
  
As long as you ask me first.   
  
Warning:   
  
Same as always, English not my first language. I am taking great liberty with their ages, and assuming both of them are around the same age, about 14~15 in the story, Jack maybe 2 or 3 years elder. Massive OOC, don't kill me for it. _  
  
I am getting lazy, didn't want to bother with betaing part 2, so I am just gonna post it. If it's bad to the point of unreadable, let me know, and then I'll go pestering my beta for help.  
  
So please tell me what you think! Read and review, pleaseeeeeee~~~~~~ ^_^   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
At first, it was all about the free food, the warm and cozy fireplace and the wine that the other boy would occasionally sneak out from the cellar. But as the days passed and he put more and more effort into creating various obstacles and annoyances in James' every day life, he realized that the other boy's snobbish temperament was a facade just liked his carefree attitude.   
  
His opinion rotated a hundred eighty degrees in just a few weeks. He started to like James. In fact, he liked James a lot. The other boy was the only real friend he had ever had, who liked him for who he was, who accepted him for who he was, who stayed alive long enough to know him for who he was.   
  
James and he were as different as two people could be. They came from completely opposite backgrounds, like two sides of the same coin. Their perceptions were like two rigid parallel lines, each could see the other, but never remotely close enough to cross.   
  
Jack's uniqueness, or in James' words, madness was what intrigued the other boy at first. And to him, James was the summation of rational reason, logic and moral values, all wrapped in a neat little bundle. He had never met anyone quite so.... sane, someone whose life was so ordered and completely mapped out for him.   
  
James' mother died a few years back, and his father wasn't exactly the most caring and compassionate parent in the world. Being the only son, there were high expectations placed on the other boy, rules to be followed and disciplines to be learned. James was always…alone, most of his times were devoted to studying and studying more.   
  
It should have been boring beyond words, yet he was fascinated. Jack's own life was chaotic to say the least, and he lived one day at a time. So in a typical selfish teenage fashion, he wanted to see the other lose that equilibrium as well, usually by means of conjuring up some outrageously funny, at least in his opinion, kind of mischief. Ruffled his feathers a little so to speak.   
  
Their interactions mostly manifested itself in the forms of either chewing the other's ears off with counter productive arguments, or mischievous and roguish acts of prank pulling, again at one another. James, being the cheeky know-it-all that he was, loved to indulge himself in making smartass critiques on Jack's mental state, and crowning him with various creative and not very flattering appellations. Jack, being the quick-witted and sophisticated young man that he fancied himself to be, always retorted with some equally immature and blasphemous comments on the other boy's anal retentiveness and wiseacre.   
  
Most pranks or bickering were humiliating, but harmless. And after the first night that James caught him stealing all of the crackers from the boy's room, his visits quickly settled into a comfortable routine.   
  
Jack would climbed in through the back window after dinner when he was suppose to be wandering the street like a good little pocket picker, and James was suppose to be studying military strategy like a obedient son. They would gorge on pastry out of fine Chinas and trade semi-serious insults back and forth. Then they would sit and looked out the window together. If the sky was clear, Jack would make up ludicrous tales about the constellations, and they would just talk about nothing and everything.  
  
And for almost two years, it had became a constant part of their lives. Theirs was a friendship born from superficial fascinations, strengthened by mutual respects and aged to a finely grained blend of affection and trust. It had became the only stable thing in Jack's life, the one thing that he looked forward to at the end of every day.   
  
He should have known that it wouldn't last.  
  
~~~*~~~  
  
That day was no different than any other, Jack had let himself in as usual and found James reading a hard covered book the size of a chair cushion. In less than five minutes, he had successfully distracted James from the tedious task of stifling his brain with the history of gunpowder making. Afterward, it wasn't so difficult to steer their conversation away from any educational topics and the discussion quickly degraded into their usual bickering.   
  
But something had seemed out of place, James was preoccupied. The other boy was perching boneless in the armchair, stared at the ceiling with blank eyes and spoke with a monotonous tone. After the third time when he was forced to clear his throat to get the other's attention, he decided to take the initiative.   
  
"What's wrong with ye?"  
  
"….."  
  
"Come on. Ye are the one who said friends tell each other things."  
  
"….my father… came back today."  
  
"Oh, and?"  
  
"We talked…..and…. he had enrolled me into the Royal Military Academy."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
James looked sad, his staling state of depression was complemented by the dusty air of London. And Jack was uneasy and agitated, as if the police was right around the corner while he was freeing some rich man's wallet.  
  
"…it means I am leaving."  
  
"To where?"  
  
"The academy is in Woolwich."  
  
"That's just beside London, not very far. It would be far to walk, I mean, but there is a town, right? So I can just…"  
  
"You don't understand." James stated quietly, "father and I talked, and we also discussed the priorities in life. He reckons that…it was about time I set a goal for myself, and decided what I wanted to do. He…he thought the Royal navy would be an excellent choice, but he thought that I should complete my education before joins the army. So…so the academy…and…and that meant we…we…"  
  
"We what?" He asked, an almost blind panic clawed at his heart.  
  
Finally James blurted out, "we can't see each other anymore."  
  
He stared. James stared back and waited patiently for a response, with arms folded across the chest and chin tucked low. A defence gesture, he realized morosely.   
  
There was a prick of pain in his chest. Strange. It was like all the air had been snuffed out of him, he was suffocating. His hands balled into fists and held stiffly on top of his knees, nails dug into the inside of his palms.   
  
What was happening?  
  
After a while, seeing no reply forthcoming from him, James added hesitatingly. "I…I am going to be an officer, and I want to be a respected and upstanding citizen…and you….and…..but it's a good thing! I will be serving my country, and doing all the noble deeds and…"   
  
It didn't take much for him to tune out the rest of the excuses. He was still in a mild state of shock.  
  
He didn't fancy himself a philosopher, just realistic. James, on the other hand, had the typical reserved, yet often idealistic outlooks on life, which characterized so many other British aristocrats.   
  
England was great. England was the best, the invincible, and all her people should be happy and grateful. And being a soldier in his majesty's army would be the best job ever.  
  
Well, he hated England.   
  
England is the lousiest country in the world. The stupid island was cold, crowded and on the whole, a dump. It had taken his parents, and now was going to take away his only friend. So he wasn't exactly a saint, but even a thief deserves friends, right?! He didn't have anything else….James was the only one he had. It wasn't fair! Where was the justice in all of this!?  
  
"Ye…we…we promised to be friends always. And didn't we…say that we would go see the world together?"  
  
His voice had died down, almost beseeching, and his eyes felt weird. They were a little strained like when he got leg crumps, only not as painful, but a nondescriptly and sore kind of sensation. It was persistent and lingered much longer. Across from him, James was biting his lips and rubbing his face impetuously.  
  
The silence dawdled and seeped into every corner, until its intensity was unbearable.   
  
Finally, Jack stood up and paced toward the window. With one hand on the windowsill, he craned his head toward the other boy.   
  
"I suppose ye don't want me to come around any more, eh?"  
  
"Jack…I….I…"  
  
"It's all right." He murmured.   
  
Without another word, he pushed and flipped gracefully out of the window. James' surprised shouts trailed behind him.  
  
He landed in a crouch, needles of pain stabbed through his feet. James lived in the first floor, but he still probably should have used some other gentler, and less dramatic method of exiting. But his mind was in pandemonium. Everything was spinning. He couldn't think; his chest felt full and hollow at the same time.   
  
He closed his eyes and just ran.   
  
~~~*~~~  
  
He cuddled the bag close to his chest and watched the harbour with dejected eyes. The market around him was booming with life. People were busy with their daily chores, buying, selling, and yelling at each other. He was occupying the bench in front of the dock, body coiled. The seagulls cried, hovering above in pairs. He winced, shielded both ears until the throes of noises faded into a mellowed buzz.   
  
He felt miserable.   
  
Faceless phantoms plagued his sleeps. Food turned tasteless in his mouth. The cold wind attacked his slim figure with vehemence. In his mind, he had flayed himself a thousand times over.   
  
He had gone back to the mansion three days later to find the house emptied. The servants were gone, every furniture were covered by white sheets, and no sign of James anywhere. He searched and searched, even wandered the street aimlessly in the hope of maybe bumping into the other boy, or anyone who might knew James' whereabouts. The realization didn't dawn on him until later, when he was huddling in a corner of the garden.  
  
James left him.   
  
So it was useless. What was he going to say even if he found him. Apologize? Or begging for a second chance? Jack would apologize, but he still had some dignity left. And what would be the use of begging anyway.   
  
James didn't wanted to be friends anymore. James wanted to be an officer. James was going to join the navy. James would sail away in his nice, big, shiny boat and never looked back. He remembered and ruminated each sentence over and over.  
  
Fine, he thought. The glass was still half full and nothing was over until it was over. Stupid England. Stupid navy. Stupid James. He was going to go sailing, too. He was going to command a bigger boat. He would be so great and famous one day, that the stupid navy would wet their pants just from hearing his name.   
  
And then.  
  
Maybe.  
  
Just maybe.  
  
James would want to be friends again.  
  
A group of sailors staggered pass him, drunk and swearing loudly. Merchants, with carts of supplies, were a few steps behind. He watched them made their ways through the crowd, and toward one of the towering ship by the dock.   
  
He paused, stood up and began to follow them discretely.  
  
~~~*~~~  
  
__About 20 years later__  
  
His hand was clamped firmly within another, sleeve pulled up and revealed the burn mark. He fluttered his lashes innocently, the commodore scowled.  
  
"Had a little run in with the East Indies Trading Company, hadn't we. Pirate."  
  
Geesh. The man was stiff. If that face got any sterner, they would surely crack. The grip on his arms tightened, then turned slightly. His sleeve was rolled up further until they passed the tattoo.  
  
"Jack Sparrow."  
  
Not even a hint of recognition. Well, he could always hope.   
  
"Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow."  
  
"I don't see your ship, captain."  
  
"I am in the market."  
  
And he had eyes for the pretty boat floating beside them. Not as dashing as his beloved Pearl, of course. But beggars couldn't be choosers.   
  
The guards argued. He got shackled and the commodore started to scout through his things.   
  
His mind began to drift half way through the commodore's sarcastic comments. At least that part of the boy hadn't changed, or was it a subconscious thing to belittle him at every opportunity. He didn't mind, it meant that there might still be a small trace of the boy he once knew.  
  
"You are, undoubtedly, the worst pirate I have ever heard." The commodore concluded his cynical list with that statement and an arch of brow.  
  
Ouch, that stung.  
  
"But you have heard of me." He countered, smirk firmly in place.  
  
The commodore froze, both in body and expression. Their eyes connected for one instant before the man turned and walked away. The bonny lass he rescued earlier followed, pleading for his life. The commodore was obviously taken with the girl, he observed, amused. An idea sprinted into his head. He chuckled and twisted the chain around his wrists.   
  
He wanted to make a strong impression after all. And this time he would make sure the other didn't forget him.  
  
~finis~  
  
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I know the reason for Jack to become a pirate was kinda lame, but keep in mind that he was a kid, and we all know that he doesn't work well with common sense.  
  
Review? Comments? Please, pretty please....  
  
^_^  
  
P.S: England is not a dump....a very nice country actually, pretty palaces, excellent food, sexy accent, even if the humidity is usually a little high for my taste. 


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